More examples: Nobody cares if you fart really loud. Unless you live in an apartment building with paper-thin walls. Even then, you can accuse your neighbors of "spying on you" and turn the tables. More often than not, it's my neighbors that are committing the noisy offense, anyway. This is still in a hypothetical stage and remains to be proven, until I listen to the audio tapes. Move over, Milhaus.
You can listen to music really loud and claim onset of general deafness. I myself prefer headphones for this activity which, in turn, leads to me singing along like there's nobody else around. As far as I am aware, nobody else actually lives here and the "people" I see are simply imaginary. This works for allot of situations. "Nope, I didn't hear anyone killing a cat last night. It was Ghosts. They're literally EVERYWHERE!"
If you want to have really smelly fish for dinner, every night, nobody notices. Mostly because that Foot Fungus smell is overpowering it. Or dirty laundry or the dead girl in the closet or...
Along those same lines...You may, if you like, leave Limburger Cheese out to "ripen" anywhere. Like, "under the bed" anywhere. I have a suspicion that my neighbor does this. Or, it's his feet.
You may, if you like, NEVER VACUUM THE RUGS in your house. Dead skin is also: EVERYWHERE and allot like ghosts. Even MORE like ghosts, in fact. This same ideology works for dishes, taking showers/shaving/Q-Tipping your ears/changing your underwear, etc.. Especially if you live alone. Shit, of course you live alone. Nobody else wants to smell the cheese under your bed or between your toes.
I have a "thing" about toe cheese. I do not care for that smell. It's like "death." Or, the dead cat in the laundry basket that you thought was simply out for a good walkabout. Then you got that Postcard from Hawai'i, telling you to make a Doctor's appointment. Damn Cat.
Breakfast time is also a great space, a safe space even, for composing naked, flatulent, smelly/ obscene, Haiku's. Can a Haiku fart? Sure, just squeeze it again...Haiku's can be, given half a chance, the Poo-Poo-Cushion of the Poetry World.
You can tell yourself jokes or watch Cats Playing With Dead Mice videos on YouTube for hours and nobody gives a shit. Nobody even knows about it. Except Google, The Feds and your ISP. Hopefully, all of those people have given up watching you because you're an old, smelly person. Or, you're just a boring guy wondering what cats do when nobody's looking.
Things in your refrigerator are also fair game for all manner of Personal Bad Habits Science Week experiments. The tomato you thought just might be the cat, which is in the laundry basket/clothes drier/under the sink or in your pillow case. (They both have the same hair. "Catmato.") Which explains why your pillow cases smell funny at 02:30. I like cats. I am also allergic to them. They know this and want to sleep on my face.
Ah, "yes." Getting Old(er). If I had known what lay in store, I would have done many, many, more risky things and had much, much, more unprotected sex, eaten that thing that exceeded the 3 minute rule for food hitting the bathroom floor, owned faster motorcycles and driven cars into snowbanks while drunk off of my ass, a case of generic beer on the floorboard on the Driver's Side and a lit cigarette burning a hole in the seat cover between my legs, with regularity. I only did that one time, honest. Hey, I was mad at my Girlfriend who was in turn mad at me for not wanting to "settle down." I showed her. When I woke up in a deserted campground at daybreak, birds were singing and all was right with the World. Time for a beer and a Road Flare ignited camp fire.
Unfortunately, "Getting Old is simply what happens when you don't die young." Punishment for all the ants you burned with a magnifying glass and the time you flicked a match at the girl who called you: "Fat's" hair, which "accidentally" caught on fire. What the fuck did you know about matches and hair? You were 9 years old. You weren't really "aiming for her" anyway. Notice that I'm not claiming personal responsibility for this, or any other, "Act Of Childhood Mayhem" I may or may not have committed. "No Film, No Act.", to quote Bill O'Reilly. That's a first. Quoting that Asshole, I mean. Why nobody has started a camp fire using a Road Flare that just happened to be stuck up Bill O'Reilly's Ass, I don't know.
A couple of people, a long time ago, suggested that I "turn myself in to" (and PAY FOR) Werner Erhard's Re-Grooving Pogrom. Many years later, I found out that Werner is "on the lamb" in Costa Rica from Scientologists that want to kill him and/or he owes back taxes to Uncle Sam. Swell guy, otherwise. I wonder if he's still honoring back order replacement for his Permanent Light Bulbs? His First BIG SCAM. Before the Self Help Stuff. He was probably a Used Car Salesman, too. The folks that took his "Trainings?" They're all Thetans and Totally Obnoxious Movie Stars, now. I once did a search of All The People That Took E.S.T.. Amusing. They might just be YOUR NEIGHBORS! They look pretty normal, on the outside. Inside? See: Road Flare, Camp Fire, Drunk Driving.
Next:"Hell." (Or: "The Post-Nuclear Man Cave.") Sure to be an improvement, with appropriate medication...
"Who Loves Ya', baby?",
-Doc (Yes, I'm wearing a Telly Savalas mask in my Roger Ramjet Pajamas @ 02:40. Smoking cigarettes, setting the cat on fire, again, and drinking Russian tea. Sue me. Do it! The Fake I.R.S.People's Robot Calling Lady sure wants to.) "People's Robot Calling Lady." Hmmm. I wonder if that has anything to do with that time I slammed the door on My Communist Avon Representative? If "Everything really is: 'connected, like Hippies and Microbiologists' claim, it's not that far-fetched.
A wonderful inconvenience:
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